You may think this post is going to be about Niall having trouble with the dark- that would make sense. But no, this is about me-- not him. Niall was perfectly fine last night while Daddy was down at the bay house and we were all alone back home. Mommy, on the other hand, was a little bit of a scaredy cat.
I don't know what it is, but I just can't stand being alone in our house at night.
Any house, really. I just notice every little noise and shadow and can't seem to let myself relax.
So, of course, I started off the bedtime routine by checking every closet and looking under all the beds. What would I do if I peeked into a closet and came face to face with the very murderer I was trying to reassure myself wasn't there? I never thought that far ahead. I don't know why it makes me feel good to go checking through the whole house without so much as a fly swatter to protect myself.
It's like I know that nobody is there, but I just need to prove it. Here's hoping I'm never unpleasantly surprised. Anyway, I kissed Niall goodnight (who was completely content, sleeping like a... baby), and quickly crawled under my covers. What more natural thing to think about at this point than the movie "Paranormal Activity"? It only makes sense to torture myself for the next 8 hours and never go to sleep.
Every time I started to doze off, I heard creaks in the stairs and immediately remembered the ghost lady who lived in this house before us- and the potential murderers under the beds, of course.
The weirdest part was that I wanted to grab Niall out of the crib and pull him in bed with me... no, not to protect him in an act of mommy bravery- but to protect myself! For some reason, I just feel safe when someone is next to me- even if it is only an 8 month old baby. He's the next man of the house, after all. He has to protect his mama :)